


The Peach Orchard

by KomakiTigerDrop



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: About love and loss, Asami being Asami, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Empty Hearse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomakiTigerDrop/pseuds/KomakiTigerDrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Peaches can be bought, but where can you buy a whole orchard in bloom?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I know I promised I would part 2 of Dangerously Gay today but I just… got caught in this painful dark cloud of angst after reading the beautiful first installment of “Bittersweet”, by appleslovetea. I was devastated. See, that is why I should not read heavy angst, haha. *wipes tears away* So, this is just a two-part drabble that I wrote to get all this sadness out of my system… Bear with me, folks, lol.

 

_“Kirishima.”_

The caller ID showing up on his phone was unknown, but the first secretary recognized his boss’s voice right away.

“Asami-sama!”

 _“The squad was not able to defuse the bomb,”_ the man’s voice was strained, and he could hear the incessant sound of gunshot and screams in the background. _“Aaron ambushed them as well. Suoh and I are running out of ammo.”_

“Sir, which floor are you in?”

_“Third.”_

“If you use the emergency stairs on the-“

 _“They are blocked,”_ on the other side of the line, his boss’ breathing was heavy. _“The stairs are blocked.”_

Kirishima pushed his glasses further up his nose, trying to force down the bile going up his throat.

 _“Kirishima…”_ he heard the other man whisper. _“How is Akihito?”_

“He will survive, sir, the bullet was lodged in his ribs but-“

A loud thump and the noise of something, or someone, crashing against glass interrupted him.

 _“Good,”_ the familiar voice finally made itself heard again, and the secretary sighed in relief.

“Asami-sama, please allow me to head to Sion,” he said.

_“No. You are where I need you to be.”_

“But sir-“

_“You need to look after Akihito.”_

“Sir, I-“

 _“That is an order, Kirishima!”_ the man’s voice was loud and clear, despite the string of shots, screams and hurried footsteps in the background. _“It is too late for me now, anyway.”_

The secretary was about to open his mouth when Asami Ryuichi spoke again.

 _“Give him the letter,”_ he said. _“Kirishima, give him-“_

And then he heard it.

It took his brain a millisecond to register it – when it did, his phone slipped to the ground.

He felt numb, almost too numb to pick up the phone buzzing insistently on the ground.

But he had to hear it. He had to know.

“Matsuya-san… “ he whispered, his voice lifeless as he spoke to one of the operatives in charge of today’s rescue operation. “Where are you now?”

 _“Outside Sion, sir. Or, what was left of it,”_ he could taste the man’s despair in each syllable, and it only made the void inside his chest grow even wider. _“Sion has collapsed, sir! The entire building, blown to the ground!”_

Kirishima Kei felt strangely empty, as if his soul had gone out for a walk, leaving his body behind, rooted in the middle of Asami’s Ryuichi’s living room.

“Kirishima,” he heard the hoarse voice of Takaba Akihito, as the young man dragged his pale self out of the bedroom. “Where is Asami?”

The secretary remained silent, as if pondering his options.

But, the truth was, he really didn’t know what to say. Or yet, he _did_ know what to say – he just did not _want to_.

Silently, he walked to the safe concealed behind one of the pictures on the wall, unlocked it, and turned around holding an envelope – one that he had sworn to himself he would never have to deliver, not in this lifetime.

“Here,” Kirishima muttered, his bespectacled eyes meeting the terrified face of the young photographer. “He wrote you a letter.”

Akihito, on any other day, would have asked for an explanation.

But one look at the secretary’s face and _he knew_.

With trembling fingers, he opened the envelope.

 

_Akihito,_

_First, let me give you some context to what you are about to read. I am having a particularly bad day, due to delicate business matters involving one of my managers._

_In a few minutes, I will be going home to you, much earlier than I originally anticipated. But this letter will be not be given to you tonight. **Hopefully** not tonight – it looks like a rather dull day to die, anyway._

_When I finish, I will instruct Kirishima to keep this letter and only give it to you when I finally join the choir invisible._

_If you are reading this, then that day has finally come._

_In case we are still together, my apologies for the poor timing of my demise._

_If we are no longer together, forgive Kirishima for tracking you down and delivering it to you anyway. I made him promise to do so under the threat that if he didn’t, I would make particularly nasty arrangements to welcome him when he finally joined me in hell._

_There are things that I should have told you while I was still alive, but never had the time – or the disposition – to. My apologies for that as well. I know you are the kind of person that would much rather hear a few words from one’s mouth than waste time reading this prolific excuse of a confession._

_Bear with me._

_Once, a very long time ago, you asked what I felt for you. You probably will not remember – you were far too drunk at the time. In case you don’t, here is a little background info to get you situated. I took you out for a drink, you ordered lavender and honey ice cream, and then to show what a grown-up you were, you ordered whisky, more than once. There you go, is that enough background for you? Do I even need to say what happened next? I think you remember that part, I am quite sure you were sober._

_I never got to answer your question, did I, Akihito? I am quite sure I always succeeded in distracting you with sex. So, I can only assume that you came to the inaccurate conclusion that sex was the only reason I kept you by my side?_

_So, here we are. I think it is time for some clarification._

_I take it you know Akira Kurosawa, the filmmaker? He was a great fan of photography, and he also believed that his viewfinder could capture things that the eye could not. You two would probably get along very well, if it weren’t for the fact he passed away when you were probably just a toddler… When I was young, I found his historical dramas so fascinating that I ended up choosing Imperial Japan as one of my majors when I went to college._

_But I digress._

_I mentioned him because you remind me of another film of his, Dreams. It’s a collection of little tales – the one that might help you understand what I feel for you is called ‘The Peach Orchard’. In it, this kid is celebrating Hina Matsuri. It’s spring, a time of the year when the peach blossoms are in full bloom. But, here is the catch. The kid’s family chopped down all the peach trees, so he is feeling, obviously, a bit desolate. Then he runs to where the orchard should be… and the scene is full of metaphors. It would be a waste of time to describe it because everything is so visual, so I will stick to the part that, to me, has the most meaning._

_At a certain point, the spirits of the trees accuse the boy of having cut down the trees because he wanted to eat all the juicy, delicious peaches, to which the boy responds, ‘peaches can be bought, but where can you buy a whole orchard in bloom?’_

_Do you get it?_

_It has never been about the sex, Akihito. Much as I always enjoyed our adventures, the truth is that I could have gotten anyone I wanted to sleep with me, anytime I wanted, anywhere I wanted._

**_Peaches can be bought._ **

_But you, Akihito, you were never a peach. And that was my downfall._

_Because the moment I realized that you were an orchard in bloom, I also realized that you were a vision I was not entitled to have._

_I knew what to do with peaches. They are relatively easy to figure out, and to consume._

_But with an orchard in bloom?_

_Before I met you, my life was exactly like that boy’s yard. Empty. Full of chopped trees. The lines of my earth were brittle and infertile, but one only reaps what one sows. That was the price I had to pay for becoming who I am – or, was._

_I always knew that no matter how much I searched that yard for something good to show you, I would never find something worth of appreciation. The more you found out about me, the closer you got to realizing that, and that is why I always made sure to keep everything about myself such a mystery to you._

_I thought that if I left it all to your imagination, your portrayal of me would be much kinder than reality. And that is saying something, considering I gave you nothing but nightmare material to work with._

_But then, I quickly realized that you were picking things up too fast, you were beginning to read me too well. Sooner or later, you would wake up from that beautiful slumber. You would wake up from the sexual trance I always tried so hard to put you in._

_You were always so strong, Akihito. Since that day you jumped off that rooftop, since I first set my eyes on that fiery expression of yours, I knew that you were a mystery to be uncovered. A battle worth fighting. And I was right: you were everything I ever thought you were, and so much more. You were beautiful, brave, honest, kind, passionate, fair… You had ideals. You had values._

_But your values and ideals would never be able to grow in an abyss of shadow._

_See, Akihito, my greatest fear in life was not that you would die because of my occupation._

_My greatest fear was that, one day, you would find yourself stranded in that dry yard, and realize that you deserve so much better than what you got from me. That one day, you would leave and never come back, because you had finally found someone that showed you a world without Fei Longs, without Yuris, without Asami Ryuichis. A world where you could thrive, where you could have a family, where you could just be what you are, with nothing to be ashamed of._

_Perhaps, as you read this, you have already moved on. If that is the case, I shall say no more, except that I truly wish we had met under better circumstances; maybe we would have had a ghost of a chance._

_As it is, I can only hope that you will find it in you to forgive me for all the damage I caused._

_Thank you for breathing life into this corpse, my beautiful, perfect **orchard in bloom.**_

_Thank you, my beloved Takaba Akihito._

_Yours, always_

_Asami Ryuichi_

 

“Kirishima…” Akihito whispered, folding the letter carefully as tears cascaded down his jaw, his neck, his chest. “Where is Asami?”

“Sion.” The secretary answered, his voice barely audible. “The building collapsed.”

The photographer felt strangely detached, as if he was stuck in a dream, or in a parallel reality.

“Take me there,” he said, his voice sounding strange and distant to his own ears.

“I-Takaba-san, I can’t-“

“Take me…” Akihito whispered, but his tone made it clear he would not take no for an answer, “…to where Asami is.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this chapter, I realized it would make more sense if I broke it into two parts. So now this is officially a three-chapter piece. For reference: the kotsuage is a traditional Buddhist ritual in Japanese funerals, and it consists of relatives picking the bones out of the ashes after cremation, and arranging them in the cremation urn.

When Takaba Akihito got to Sion, what greeted him was the vision of hell.

Instead of the imposing building, he found himself staring at a gigantic pile of debris, with flames licking contorted metal and glass, shedding light on bodies - or what had been left of bodies - scattered around in a multitude of puddles of blood covered by ashes.

He felt like throwing up.

To think that the scorched hand limbs in one of those puddles could be _his…_

He bent over, the contents of his stomach splashing on the debris in front of him and adding an extra layer of slime to the already disgusting scenario.

His hand immediately covered the gun wound his chest, and the warmth of his own blood soaked his fingers. His stitches had broken, but he could not stop.

_He had to find him._

Carefully, and trying not to wince at the pain that met his every step, he made his way past the wreck, sneaking a peek under broken floorboards, bricks, sheets of metal and plastic that cluttered the way, trying to locate a sign, any sign, that he might still be alive.

He stopped when two large blocks of concrete blocked his path, but his eyes could catch a glimpse of movement below him. Without hesitating, he squeezed himself between the blocks and jumped to the rather unstable platform on the lower level, leaving a trail of his own blood behind.

His limbs were beginning to feel numb, but he forced himself to keep standing.

In the darkness, he made out the shape of a man sitting on top of a pile of debris, his gaze far and vacant as he stared at the wreck ahead. Akihito blinked, studying his blood-covered face and the tiny bits of glass on his hair, moving closer to get a better look…

“Excuse me,” he whispered. “I hear a man...died here today.”

The man kept staring ahead as he spoke.

“Many men died here today.”

“I know,” Akihito replied, his voice low as he struggled to remain conscious. The pain in his chest was excruciating, and the blood from his wound was now seeping into the waistband of his jeans. “I can see that. But... Asami Ryuichi,” he paused, trying to catch his breath. “Is he dead?”

The man next to him finally turned his head to look at him, his golden eyes glowing like fire amidst the darkness.

“He might as well be…” he replied, before looking away.

For a moment, Akihito wondered if he should reach out to touch him… He wanted to, but his arms felt so heavy…

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said, dragging his words a little as he let his body slide to the floor and rested his head against what was left of a doorframe. “Legend says he was a bastard... But truth is, he was much more than that.”

He let his eyes flutter closed.

“Hopefully he realised that before he passed…” he added.

When he opened his eyes again, he realized the man was still there, still looking ahead, like a statue.

“I have some good memories of this place…” Akihito heard himself say, slowly but surely losing his grip on reality as his thoughts drifted to the few times he had visited Asami in his office.

“Yeah... Me too.”

“Do you think they will be gone,” he asked, “now that it is all burnt to the ground?”

The man did not reply right away, and when he did, his voice was nothing but a whisper.

“Hopefully not...”

Akihito nodded, clutching his T-shirt as he tried to force the bleeding in his chest to stop.

“It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, you know…” he blabbered. “To start from scratch. To rebuild it all, to see it in all its glory, for the first time, again…”

In his current state of mind, he was unsure as to whether he was referring to Sion…or _else._

“It's a lot of work,” the man replied.

“I'm sure you can handle it…” Akihito could feel himself falling… his heartbeat was terribly slow, and he was vaguely aware that his blood pressure must have dropped to its limit. “Name’s Takaba Akihito, by the way...” he whispered. “If you wanna have a drink… one of these days…”

His head finally lulled to the side, and everything went black.

++++

The next day, Akihito woke up with a start, just to find himself surrounded by the familiar linen sheets of their master bed.

He winced when the wound on his chest made itself known, and his fingers automatically travelled to the fresh, clean bandages there.

“Ah, you’re up,” said the tired voice of Kirishima, who was glancing at him from outside the room. “How are you feeling?”

The secretary looked like he had been to hell and back, multiple times. His glasses were skewed, his clothes were covered in ashes and blood, and he had dark bags under bloodshot eyes, which made it evident that the images flashing behind the photographer’s eyes had _not_ been a dream.

“Kirishima!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide as they darted across the room. “W-Where is Asami?”

“Don’t get so agitated,” the man whispered in response. “You almost died yesterday, you should rest.”

“Where is he?” Akihito insisted, just to have his question ignored one more time.

“When we found you,” Kirishima explained, “your lips were purple, and you were mumbling things to a statue.”

The photographer’s eyes went even wider.

“A _statue?_ No!” he shook his head, ignoring the protests of his muscles when he brought himself to a sitting position. “No! It was not a statue, it was… It was Asamii!” he exclaimed. “Kirishima, he was there!”

“Takaba-san…” he heard the secretary mutter, his eyes carefully averted to the ground. “Asami-sama is dead.”

“No, I…” Akihito blinked, a frown wrinkling his forehead as he recalled the events of the night before. “No, he was… He was hurt, yeah, but he was all in one piece, he probably jumped out of a window or something, he…” he raised his eyes, silently begging for the man in front of him to confirm his version of the facts. “Kirishima, I saw him.”

“You were delirious, probably due to the lack of oxygen in your brain,” Kirishima explained, his voice low and serious. “It was very unwise of you, to submit yourself to such strenuous activity after undergoing surgery...”

Akihito kept shaking his head, hunting for words as the secretary finally approached the bed and took a seat by his side.

The man looked thoroughly defeated.

The photographer swallowed a lump in his throat. His absolute certainty that Asami was not dead was beginning to falter.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked, quietly.

“A little more than 16 hours,” Kirishima replied, after glancing at his watch.

“What?!” Akihito gasped.

“You were sedated,” the secretary said, after standing up and heading to the door. “I apologize, but I could not afford to keep an eye on you, I already have a lot on my hands dealing with the media and the funeral arrangements…”

_Funeral._

He blinked back the tears that filled his eyes at the mention of the word, fear threatening to consume him at the mere thought that there was a slim chance that it was true – that the man he had shared the past three years of his life was really dead.

“What time is it gonna be?” he asked, quietly.

“What?”

“The funeral.”

He raised his eyes just in time to see the secretary frown.

“You should not go. There is nothing for you to see, it will be a quick cer-”

“What time, Kirishima?”

“Later this afternoon,” the man replied, before turning on his heels and heading outside. “I will text you the details and the address of the temple.”

++++

Hours later, Takaba Akihito found himself inside a convenience store, staring at the headlines on the newspapers behind the cashier.

**_Asami Ryuichi, CEO of Sion Corporation, dies at 37_ **

**_Tragedy in Tokyo – casualties include legendary tycoon Asami Ryuichi_ **

His eyes drifted to a much shorter one, on top of a full body picture of the man attending a gala event.

**Dead**

**_The end of an era_** , said another one, displaying a before and after of the famous building that once hosted one of Japan’s most powerful corporations.

Akihito still felt like he was trapped in some sort of nightmare. None of that felt real. Mindlessly, he let his legs lead his despondent self to the Sengakuji Temple – maybe, if he saw the evidence that the man was gone for good, he would start believing.

However, when he got to his destination, he immediately realized that there was something wrong.

The only funeral being held at the place was one too small to be Asami’s. A quick look at the old woman in the picture near the casket surrounded by modest flower arrangements confirmed that he was _definitely not_ attending the right service.

He felt his body shake with anger.

Kirishima had sent him on a wild goose chase. Was he really that much of an embarrassment, for the man to feel the need to stop him from attending his boss’ funeral? Sure, the whole thing was bound to be crawling with photographers and VIPs, and Akihito always had suspected his role in Asami’s life was closer to a dirty little secret than to a partner to be presented to society.

Still… he had the right to say his goodbyes, right?

“Right,” he told himself, wiping away the tears that had fallen from his eyes.

With shaking fingers, he reached for his cell phone, and pressed a button.

“Mitarai,” he said, trying to steady his voice as much as he could. “It’s Takaba. Do you happen to know where Asami Ryuichi’s funeral is being held?”

_“Why? Think you will be able to snap a pic-“_

“Do you, or do you not?”

_“Oi, don’t get your panties in a bunch! Of course I know where it is, they closed the Todai-Ji just because of it…”_

Akihito’s eyes went wide.

“The Todai-Ji? In Nara?” he asked, slightly panicked. “But that is like… a three hour train ride from Tokyo!”

_“Three hours and a half, actually. You’d better hurry, if you are planning to at least catch the family putting his ashes in the urn. But lemme tell you, security is-”_

Akihito hung up. He had a train to catch, and a secretary to kill.

++++

At least Suoh did not have the nerve to try and stop him from entering the area where he presumed the _kotsuage_ was taking place.

He just walked past the bulky bodyguard, taking a deep breath as he prepared to face Asami’s relatives for the first time, wondering how he could possibly explain who he was without offending Asami’s memory.

His concerns, however, vanished into thin air as soon as he walked into the small chamber and found Kirishima, alone, holding a set of large wooden chopsticks in his hand, looking down at a wide tray containing ashes and bones.

“Where is Asami’s family?” Akihito blurted out, temporarily forgetting the insults he had planned to dump on the secretary.

“Takaba-san!” Kirishima exclaimed, looking positively shocked. “You should not be here!”

And _that_ was the end of the truce.

“You son of a bitch!” Akihito spat out. “After everything, you had the nerve to try and stop me attending his funeral?!” he paused to catch his breath. A part of him felt guilty for cursing at such a sacred place and moment, but he went on regardless. “You piece of shit!”

Angry tears filled his eyes as he reached for the other pair of chopsticks.

“That is not-“

“Don't you even dare,” Akihito snarled, when the secretary tried to take away the chopsticks from his hands. “I'm doing this. I don't need to hear shit from you, not today.”

He sniffed, trying to swallow back a sob as he wiped the tears streaming down his face with the hem of his T-shirt.

“This is not what Asami-sama would have wanted,” he heard the man whisper.

“Well, he is not here to tell me off, is he?” he replied, trying to steady his shaky voice. “I never did anything for him when he was alive, at least, _at least,_ let me do this,” he added. “Plus, you are doing it all wrong, the bones of the head are the last thing you pick, you don’t want him to spend eternity upside down, do you?”

He cleared his throat and raised his eyes to Kirishima, just to find him looking at him with a truly saddened expression. In silence, he watched as the man picked up a bone, and passed it to him so that he could lead it to the urn. However, the chopsticks in his hand were shaking so much that he knew he would not be able to fulfil that simple task.

His gaze had dropped to the ashes and tiny pieces of bone of what had once been the man that he had grown to love, against all logic and especially, against his best judgment.

 _A man that had loved him back_ , as his letter had made abundantly clear.

Akihito felt all the tears he had been holding back rush to his eyes at the same time, and the sobs he had tried so hard to swallow finally made their way out of his mouth.

“Takaba-san, please leave.”

“No!” Akihito yelped, his voice strangely nasal now that he was not even bothering to turn off the waterworks. “The hell, Kirishima, I just…” he forced himself to take a long, deep breath. “I’m okay.”

And with that, his hands regained some stability, and soon enough the two of them were ready to take Asami to his next and final destination – his grave, at Mount Koya.

By the time they reached the vehicle awaiting them outside the temple, Kirishima Kei had finally accepted there would be no point in trying to convince the photographer not to join him on that trip, and that he would be equally unsuccessful in getting the young man to let go of the solid brass, intricately hand engraved cremation urn.

The secretary let out a sigh. Despite all the trouble Takaba Akihito had caused him in the three years he had been part of his boss’ life, the young man’s suffering was heartbreaking, but there was nothing that could be done, at the moment, to relieve him of such pain.

The black limousine then took off, leaving both men with their thoughts as the sun began to set.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, I am sorry, I am so sorry, but no; this is not the last chapter as I promised it would be...!! *runs behind a pillar to hide from booing crowd* It's just that Akihito decided to give me all these feels with his grieving and once again I was forced to break a chapter in two parts!! But now, you have my word: the next chapter is *really* the last one!!

 

“Kirishima, I already said I don’t want his money.”

Akihito watched as the older man rested his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers under his chin. On the table, between the two of them, was a check with far too many zeroes on it.

“You will need money to keep the penthouse in proper conditions, to buy food, supplies, to pay for the cleaners,” the secretary explained.

“I don’t need cleaners. And I certainly don’t need 100 million yen to buy food, that is insane,” Akihito replied, leaning back on the chair and crossing his arms. “I don’t want it. I don’t even know why the penthouse was transferred to my name.”

Kirishima seemed to be on the verge of losing his cool.

“Takaba-san…” he whispered, pressing his thumbs against his temples, “…please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“It’s too much money, Kirishima!” the photographer insisted. “Even if you take, I don’t know, three zeroes out of it, its is still too much money!”

Akihito stood up, and started to pace the room.

“I don’t need it. I don’t…” he said, his voice filled with a distinct note of concern. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”

“I can help you manage it,” Kirishima replied.

“You have a shit ton of things to do, you don’t need… You don’t need to look after me anymore.”

Akihito spent a long minute trying to decipher the look on the other man’s face, but Kirishima Kei was a tough one to read.

“I mean...” he continued. “The only reason you once did was… because I was with Asami.”

Kirishima’s face remained impassive.

“Now I am back to being the bratty photographer jumping from rooftops,” Akihito concluded, chuckling sadly as he remembered that the first greeting he had gotten from the secretary was a knee to his ribs. “It’s okay, it really is,” he quickly added when he saw the man open his mouth to reply. “I appreciate the thought. But it is time to get back in the game… make my own money and all.”

He made his way to the couch, and turned on the TV.

“I am depositing this to your account,” Kirishima said matter-of-factly, standing up after pocketing the check. “What you do with it from then on, it is your choice.”

Akihito heard him head to the door, pause for a second, but leave regardless.

It had already been a week since the two of them buried the ashes of Asami Ryuichi, but life still felt strangely unaltered.

To all due effects, Akihito’s mind was interpreting the absence of his lover in the penthouse as synonym with the man being on one of his business trips.

Every now and then, he got so distracted by that thought that he would set the table for two, or find himself looking at his phone wondering why Asami hadn’t called in so long.

Every now and then, he would wake up and get out of the bed as quietly as he could, because he did not want to wake up the warm body lying next to him.

Except that there was no warm body lying next to him.

Not anymore.

Despite realizations like those, he was able to remain fully functional, mainly because a part of him was still completely oblivious to his current circumstances.

He went outside, met with his friends, got himself jobs that paid him well enough for him to have at least one hot meal per day.

He played his games, watched _Batoru Rowaiaru_ for the millionth time, aired the futon, cleaned the penthouse with surgical precision, got himself busy, so busy that he didn’t have to think much about anything at all.

And so, days became weeks, and weeks became months.

Six months.

When he finally got home that night, just to find it as empty as it had been for the past half of year, the realization finally crashed down on him like a thousand bricks on fire.

_Asami was not coming back._

That night, he skipped his one hot meal, sat on the floor instead of the couch, and cried himself to sleep.

The next morning, he skipped work, ignored his friends’ calls and, one week later, pretended not to be home when they showed up at his door trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

_Asami was not coming back._

His tired eyes scanned the penthouse as if seeing it for the first time. Now, he finally realized what an empty shell that place was without Asami, and how he had left a piece of him in every corner, of every room.

He could still smell him in the suits he had kept untouched in the closet.

He could still hear his velvety voice whispering dirty things in his ear every time he took a shower in their bathroom.

He could still see him wearing his robe as he sat on the chaise by the balcony.

He could still feel him inside his body in the numerous occasions they had had sex in the kitchen.

The penthouse was like a box filled to the brim with the best memories of his life, and now all of them were threatening to strangle him.

The 100 million yen in his bank account would be used for the first time, but just enough for him to find himself a tiny studio somewhere as far as possible from the place he had gotten used to calling _home_.

Four months later, he was still mentally referring to the penthouse as his official home, the modest studio he was currently living in still far from gaining that status.

The day he had moved in, Kirishima Kei had texted him – for the first time in months – saying that if he ever changed his mind, he could go back to the luxurious apartment any time of the day.

Akihito had replied that he could sell the whole place with everything inside it, for all he cared. An obvious lie, which had not even succeeded in eliciting a response from the secretary.

He let his eyes fall to the phone on his dining table, and pressed the voicemail notification icon to check whose call he had missed.

_“Oi, Akihito! You need to have your head checked, I can’t believe you turned down Ai-chan when she asked you out on a date! Dude, that was universally stupid!”_

Akihito chuckled. As of lately, Kou seemed genuinely worried that his privates would end up deteriorating due to lack of usage. Then again, the photographer knew better than to listen to the advice of a guy that was so obsessed with the opposite sex and yet seemed to get so little action himself.

But… in a way, if Akihito was completely honest with himself, he would have to admit that Kou was right when he once said he was using _his mysterious ex_ as an excuse not to get involved with anyone.

Akihito knew, deep inside, that his lack of resolution with Asami was indeed holding him back both emotionally and… well, sexually.

Not that he had been much of a sex maniac before Asami waltzed into his life. He had never been much of a womanizer or… man eater? Whichever, he had never been one to sleep around, probably because of his _very specific predilections._  It was not as if he could not live without sex. Ten months had been easy breezy. But… yeah. His complete lack of interest in the subject was a very strong indicator that he was still stuck in a past he could not change, or accept.

 _In other news, there are unconfirmed rumors that terrorist group Donétskaya Naródnaya_ _has claimed responsibility for the coordinated bombings that killed over 500 hundred people in Siberia..._

He turned his head to glance at the female news anchor looking at him from inside the TV. Another terrorist attack… Not even Siberia was safe, apparently.

_Official sources have confirmed that the target of the attacks was a coalition of American and Russian criminal factions that controlled the region’s illegal trade of weapons and d-_

The news anchor was cut off without preambles as he turned off the television. Criminal factions were another thing he had been avoiding like the plague, even though that certainly represented a serious halt in his career as an investigative photographer.

And _that_ was yet another indication of his never ending denial.

Akihito swallowed, feeling the void in his chest threaten to expand and make his entire self disappear into a black hole.

His eyes were quick to locate the letter – _that_ letter – the one that he knew was his biggest gift and also, his biggest curse. To think that he had only learnt Asami’s true feelings about him when it was too late for him to even say something in return…

He picked the piece of paper from its captive spot – under a bottle of Asami’s favourite scotch, still half-full, the amber liquid serving mere decorative purposes next to his collection of Xbox games.

_It was time to stop running._

“I will visit you…” he whispered, his fingertips gently touching the signature at the end of the letter. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna visit you.”

++++

The tomorrow in question came two months later, on the day that marked Asami Ryuichi’s one year death anniversary.

He wore his best suit – one that he was glad to notice still fit him perfectly – fixed his hair and stopped at a flower stall on the corner to get a 1 thousand yen bunch of red spider lillies wrapped in boring brown paper, just because he was still adamant about not spending the money Kirishima had deposited in his bank account the year before.

As he waited for the lady to finish wrapping his unsophisticated bouquet, he looked around, and noticed that he was no longer being watched. It was something he had gotten used to after Asami had passed – there always seemed to be someone keeping tabs on him. Probably some sort of security scheme Kirishima had come up with…

He shrugged. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t noticed anyone watching him for the past few weeks – probably the secretary had finally realized that he really didn’t need to be taken care of.

“Takaba-san.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Kirishima materialised next to him.

“Holy shit, Kirishima,” he said, quickly paying for the flowers and turning to glare at the bespectacled man. “What the hell! You scared me!”

“Heading to a date?” he heard the man ask, his voice void of emotions as he pushed his glasses further up his nose and studied his figure.

“Haha, look who has learnt to make jokes,” Akihito snorted, still frowning. He was positive Kirishima knew exactly where he was going, there was _no way_ he would not remember what day it was. “Very funny, your boss would be pleased.”

“I am sure he would,” the man replied, handing him a folder.

“What is that?”

“You told me to sell the penthouse, right?” Kirishima said, raising an eyebrow as a very small smirk curled the corners of his mouth. “Congratulations, you got yourself a very generous offer.”

Akihito froze on the spot, his eyes wide as his heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

“G-Great,” he stuttered, straightening his back as he completely ignored the papers being offered to him. “Go ahead, sell it.”

The man’s expression was of absolute disappointment.

“Aren’t you even going to look at the bid details?”

“No,” the photographer replied, ready to turn on his heels. “I trust your expertise.”

He excused himself, quickening his step to get as far away as possible from Kirishima, the penthouse, and the memories that came with it all.

 

++++

 

It took him a considerable number of hours to get to Mount Koya, and many other long minutes to find his way around the multitude of tombstones in the Okunoin Cemetery.

And then, at last, he saw it – the picture of the golden-eyed man resting neatly against the stone monument in which his name had been engraved, a little tree swaying bravely behind it.

He let out a small smile, but it quickly faded when he realized that there were no flowers, water or incense burning at the man’s grave, despite the special date.

“Unbelievable,” he whispered. “See, I always told you that your business associates were a bunch of jerks, do you get it now?” he muttered, lighting up an incense stick and placing the flowers in one of the stone platforms. “You should have made better friends when you were alive...”

Akihito paused, feeling slightly ashamed that he himself had not paid a single visit to the grave after that one time, one year before.

“I had planned to come before, you know, to... visit but...” he said, his voice a bit strained. “Life was busy. Yeah. Yeah. Lots of work…”

He scratched his neck, rocking back and forth on his heels as he spoke.

“I still live within my means, so…” he said, stealing a glance at the golden eyes in the picture, “…don't judge me on the flowers.”

Akihito bit his lower lip, hands in his pockets as he tried to figure out what to say next.

“So… what have you been up to?” he asked, quickly rolling his eyes afterwards. _What a stupid thing to say, was he actually expecting an answer?_ “Okay. No point beating around the bush, right?” he cleared his throat. “Now you can probably read minds and stuff, so you already know what I am thinking about…”

He pulled out a piece of paper that was beginning to disintegrate after one year of being folded, unfolded, cried on, kissed and gripped.

“ _This,”_ he said, his voice breaking a little as he held out the letter. “We have to talk about _this_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: the next chapter is *really* the last chapter, seriously!! Thanks so much for your patience! ; )


	4. Chapter 4

“So, I was your peach orchard, huh?” Akihito asked, loosening the tie around his neck. Of all the times when the weather could be that hot, it had to be _exactly_ on the day he was wearing a stupid suit. “The hell is that supposed to mean? That I look girly? That I look good in pink?” he snickered nervously as his eyes darted around the tombstone in front of him. “Sorry, I'm just... kidding.”

He cleared his throat, and let out a deep sigh.

“I know what you meant,” he said, taking another pause as his gaze dropped to his shoes. “I…kinda disagree, though.”

He felt his nostrils begin to burn, and cleared his throat again, squaring his shoulders in the process.

_It was way too early for him to start crying._

“I am no orchard in bloom, Asami,” he said, shrugging carelessly. “I am... far from being something that poetic. If anything, I am... I am...” he pursed his lips as he hunted for an appropriate comparison. “A bamboo sprout? Hell if I know, I am not good with all these stupid metaphors….”

He wiped a drop of sweat off his brow, and tugged on his shirt, which was beginning to feel damp under his arms.

“By the way, yeah, duh!” he rolled his eyes as he continued. “Of course I know who Akira Kurosawa is! And I saw Dreams too, but I just... fell asleep in the middle of it,” he admitted, feeling a slight blush make its way to his cheeks. “I think I was too young when I first watched it to appreciate it… I’ll have to watch it again one of these days.”

He allowed his thoughts to go off on a tangent for a moment, but quickly put them back on track when his eyes fell upon the piece of paper he was holding.

“Anyhow...” he said. “You were always such a drama queen,” he chuckled sadly. “Like, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

He searched for the golden gaze in the picture, and felt his own words sink in after a minute of silence.

“Huh,” he muttered, feeling his throat constrict a little. “Probably that is what you wanted me to do, huh? To see _myself_ through _your_ eyes.”

His nostrils started to burn again, just like the corners of his eyes, and he snorted.

“Oh, we were both so stupid!” he exclaimed, letting both arms fall limply by his side as he shook his head. “To me, you were the orchard in bloom, asshole! You always were!”

He blinked back tears when his voice started to falter, and forced out a chuckle before speaking again.

“I never understood what you saw in me...” he said, fidgeting with the paper in his hands. “A dirt-poor, uneducated freelance photographer, who never gave two shits for the oh-so-glamorous life you had, who made fun of you,” he added, shifting on his feet. “But the truth is...I never saw you as a dry yard, whatever the heck that is supposed to mean.”

He paused again, and took another moment to look at the man in the picture.

“I saw a man who was sharp, suave as fuck…loyal, passionate, too stubborn for his own good, and ah, you will hate hearing this,” he chuckled, “but you were generous, Asami. Just like... _super selective_ with whom you were generous with, but you were…”

He let out a snicker that quickly turned into laughter.

“Ha! Asami Ryuichi, a closeted _softie_ ,” he chanted, sticking out his tongue. “Bleh, take that, you can't even defend yourself now…”

He wiped away happy tears, and sighed.

“I saw the darkness too, you thought I didn't?” he asked, his voice lower and much more serious as he carefully averted his eyes to the ground. “I did. I never thought you were perfect _per se_. But-“

His voice faltered, and he faked a smile.

“But-“ again, the words refused to leave his mouth.

He cleared his throat, tears filling his eyes as he tried to steady his voice.

“But you were perfect _for me_ ,” he finally managed to say, his voice strangled and shaky as the first tears fell from his eyes.

He lowered his head, his shoulders shaking as he got ready to rant.

“A-Ass-h-hole!” he stuttered, raising his glistening eyes to the picture. “W-Why did you have to die, you b-bastard?” he sobbed. “I wish you were alive, so that I c-could kill you m-myself! I hate you!”

He covered his face with both hands, tears running freely down his face and neck and mixing with the sweat on his chest.

“Y-you said you would n-never leave me a-a-and t-then y-you went and died!” he sobbed even louder.

His head was beginning to spin, probably due to dehydration, now that he had probably lost some considerable amount of his body weight in sweat and tears.

He wiped his face on the sleeve oh his jacked, and sniffled.

“Here, see... _this_ ,” he said, his voice hoarse and nasal as he touched the branch of a tiny tree growing behind the man’s grave. “ _This_ is a real peach orchard. I planted it here on the day your ashes were brought in,” he explained. “I thought that it could keep you company for eternity, like one of those trees that you see in forests that are like, a bazillion years old or something.”

He paused, and chuckled.

“But, guess what, then I found out these things only last like... twenty years,” he muttered, raising an eyebrow. “So, enjoy it while it lasts,” he shrugged, before a fleeting thought made him frown. “Which also reminds me that you could have chosen a tree with a longer life span to compare me to!”

He cast a dirty look towards the man in he picture.

“Twenty years...” he scoffed.

The sound of footsteps made him turn his head.

“Ah, here comes Kirishima,” he whispered, when he saw the secretary walk towards him. “Came to light an incense stick for your old boss?”

“I am afraid not,” the man replied, matter-of-factly.

Akihito raised an eyebrow.

“You know, for someone that was so dedicated during his lifetime, you are turning out to be a dick after his death,” he said, crossing his arms and frowning even harder when the man handed him an envelope. “What is that?”

“This,” the man replied, “is an envelope.”

“Oh, no shit, really?” Akihito snapped back, snatching the envelope from the secretary’s hand and watching him move away without a single word. “Well, yeah, have a nice day, too!”

He was still mentally cursing the man when his eyes fell on the piece of paper that his fingers had mindlessly fished out of the envelope.

_Turn around._

He did, without a moment of hesitation, his brain barely registering the familiar handwriting. Just then, his eyes went wide, and the envelope he was holding slipped past his fingers and fluttered to the ground.

Unconsciously, he reached for the prayer beads inside his pants pocket as the figure of Asami Ryuichi slowly began to walk towards him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and brought the beads to his lips as he silently recited all mantras he knew.

Of course, he was either hallucinating or the man had _really_ come back from the dead to claim him. He was not even wearing a suit, and he could count on his left hand the number of times he had seen the man in jeans and a V-neck shirt.

“Akihito,” he heard the baritone voice say, still just as sexy and velvety as he remembered it.

Akihito shook his head, taking a step backwards and nearly tripping on his own feet as he prepared to atone for his sins. In the afterlife, Asami must have learnt all about his mischiefs, and even though he doubted it would help, he could at least try to explain himself…

“Look, that one time I changed your mouthwash for bleach, I swear I did not know it could literally kill you,” he squeaked, “I was not trying to kill you, I threw it away long before you got home. And that time I used your underwear to-“

“Akihito,” the man repeated, raising an eyebrow. “I am not a ghost.”

The photographer took another step backwards, and this time his feet connected with solid stone and he tumbled, landing on his back with a loud thud. He saw the man reach for him, but he managed to pull away before his fingertips touched his arm.

“You said you would come back from hell to get me if you had to!” Akihito spluttered, his heart thumping loudly as the familiar scent of Asami’s perfume filled his nostrils.

“Oh, indeed I will,” was the man’s reply. “Only...not today, because that is not where I am coming from,” he added. “Not from literal hell, at least.”

Still shaking, and confused beyond belief, Akihito finally reached out to grab the hand in front of him, only to find out that it was very warm, very solid, and _completely real._ He squeezed it so hard that his knuckles had turned white by the time he was standing back on his feet.

“You son of a bitch…” he found himself saying. “You are alive!”

“I am,” Asami replied, leading a cigarette to his lips as if it was no big deal.

Possessed by pure, blinding rage, Akihito curled his hands into fists, and threw one of them with all the strength he could muster towards Asami’s mouth, making the cigarette fly up in the air as the man staggered backwards, probably out of sheer surprise.

“ _You!_ ” Akihito screamed at the top of his lungs. “ _How could you do that to me?_ ”

“Akihito...”

“One year! _One entire year!_ ” the photographer snarled, raising a finger with nothing but contempt in his eyes. “You let me grieve... I went to your funeral! I picked up your bones from-“

He gasped, covering his mouth with both hands.

“Whose bones were those?” he whispered, eyes wide with terror.

“Certainly not mine…” Asami replied, rubbing his chin with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t you have _any_ respect for _anything, at all?_ ” Akihito yelled again, his hands up in the air as he remembered all the pain he had gone through – _uselessly_.

“That funeral was a farce,” he heard the man explain. “I told Kirishima to give you the wrong address so that you would not suffer in vain. You were not supposed to attend.”

“I thought you were _dead!_ ” Akihito’s voice was loaded with despair as he spoke. “ _For one year!_ Do you have _any_ idea...?” he pursed his lips, casting a rather sour look towards the man in front of him. “Oh, how I wish you _were_ dead!”

“That is not true, is it?”

His nostrils flared when the man had the nerve to smirk.

“ _’I wish you were alive, so that I could kill you myself?’_ ” Akihito heard the man quote the words he had said only a few minutes before, and felt his eyes were about to pop out of his head.

“How do y-“

“The tombstone,” Asami interrupted, looking slightly out of sorts as he lowered his gaze, pointing his cigarette to the frame of the picture on his grave. “It has… a… microphone…”

Akihito had to chew on his tongue not to scream. He merely nodded, pursing his lips as he covered his mouth with one of his hands.

“You bugged your own grave,” he whispered, trying to ignore the new wave of anger flooding his system. “Of course, that is so typical of you, that is so... _ugh!_ ” he exclaimed, tugging at his hair. “To fake your own death, to play with people's feelings! So this was just a joke for you?” he asked, his eyes gleaming wildly as he took a step forward. “You were laughing at me _this entire time?_ ”

For the first time that day, he saw Asami’s expression become completely serious.

“Akihito, it's not as if I was sitting behind a tree watching you all the time, I only came back to Japan today.”

“Who else knew?”

He watched as the man once again averted his gaze as he took another puff off his cigarette.

“Asami!” he squeaked. “ _Who else_?”

“Kirishima. Suoh.”

“Uh huh,” Akihito crossed his arms. “Only them?”

Another puff and a few seconds later, Asami spoke again.

“Kuroda.”

Akihito’s eyes went wide.

“ _Kuroda?_ ” he repeated, not even bothering to hide his disbelief. “Why-“

“He is my brother,” Asami interrupted, still avoiding his eyes. “And the district prosecutor.”

“ _Brother?_ ” the photographer spluttered, still trying to digest the new, but not any less shocking, piece of information. He had always suspected that the two men were far too close, but not _that kind_ of close. “Wait, he didn’t… He didn’t even attend the serv-“

He closed his eyes, and finally understood.

“Of course,” he muttered, once again pursing his lips. “Because it was not a real funeral!”

“Fei Long.”

Akihito’s eyes shot open, and when he stared at his _not-dead_ lover, they were positively _murderous._

“Fei-“ he started, only to interrupt himself with a very energetic punch in the air. “Oh _fuck you!_ ”

“Akihito…”

“Fuck. _You_.”

“I had to dismantle the network of criminals that destroyed Sion,” Asami explained, his voice carrying a distinct apologetic note. “I needed his assistance…”

“But not mine,” Akihito snapped, even angrier now that the familiar prickling at the corners of his eyes had decided to make a triumphant comeback. “Me, you could just toss aside.”

His voice faltered, and he cursed when the first tears streamed down his face.

“You were being watched, Akihito,” Asami explained, reaching out to hold the younger man’s face in his hands. “They knew that you would be the first person I would go to if I were alive, as they suspected I was,” Akihito sobbed quietly, his own gaze vacantly resting on the man’s chest. “If I contacted you, both of us would be at risk, I had to stay undercover.”

“You could have called!” the photographer insisted, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Sent a letter, an email-“

“You were being tracked.”

Akihito finally raised his eyes to the golden ones hovering above his face.

“By whom?” he asked quietly.

“By the people that destroyed Sion,” the man replied, his voice calm and soothing as his slender fingers tucked a strand of blond hair behind Akihito’s ear. “By the people that shot you, people that nearly killed you.”

“Well, you could have used Kirishima to tell me!” the photographer retorted, frowning. “How… how did you two communicate? Because if I was being tracked, Kirishima was being tracked too.”

Asami motioned silently to the tombstone behind them.

“The grave,” Akihito rolled his eyes as the older man spoke. “Kirishima coming here to pay his respects was the only thing that would not be seen as suspicious, and this is the only place where we could have some sort of privacy.”

Akihito nodded, still annoyed, but without the obvious rage of moments before.

“Our communication was very brief but enough for us to keep business running,” Asami went on. “Suoh was in charge of identifying which managers within my businesses had betrayed me… All he had to do was tip Kuroda so that the illegal side trading they were conducting was interrupted without revealing my whereabouts.“ The man paused, and reached for another cigarette. “And Fei Long… I confess I was hesitant in trusting him with such a secret, but he said he was doing it for you,” Akihito noticed it was Asami’s turn to look deeply annoyed. “Of all things…”

“You could have taken me with you,” Akihito whispered, swallowing a knot in his throat as he looked at the man in front of him. “I would have gone… anywhere you asked me to.”

And then he saw that rare, elusive little smile that was not Asami’s usual smirk, and that filled his heart with all kinds of fuzzy feelings.

“I know you would,” he heard the man whisper. “But it would have been a terrible plan, wouldn’t it?”

Akihito lowered his forehead until it was almost touching Asami’s chin. Of course, it _would have been_ a terrible plan. He completely lacked all of the tactical skills that those _elected four_ had, each on their own manner, and to make everything worse, he was bound to have become a target no matter where they went, giving Asami nothing but extra trouble.

“Trust me. I came very close to just… coming back, because of you,” Asami whispered again, and his voice was so soft and warm that Akihito had to mentally slap himself for how quickly he was forgiving his lover’s shenanigans. “For twelve months, you were all I thought of.”

Involuntarily, his fingers gripped the other man’s arms, and his eyes widened.

“Oh no,” the photographer muttered. “You heard it. All of it.”

“What?”

“The...the things I said,” Akihito exclaimed, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. “The things I said about you!”

Again, _that little smile._

“Well, at least now we are even,” Asami replied, shuffling the younger man’s hair with a very proud gleam in his eyes. “I _did_ leave you a very honest letter, in case you forget.”

Those words made Akihito frown, and he took a step back to study the other man’s face.

“Wait, the letter…“ he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Was it a setup as well? Did you know you were not going to die and just-“

“It was not a setup,” Asami was quick to say. “When I called Kirishima that night, my situation was dire. I might have thought, even if for just a second…“ he paused, as if sorting through his own memories, “that it was too late for me. And then what came next happened very fast, I had to think on my feet,” he said. “Faking one’s own death is an awfully clichéd idea and one that is a literal logistic nightmare, but my headquarters had just collapsed and I was in no better shape myself…” he chuckled. “Kirishima had to perform a few miracles to send me abroad before I was spotted by anyone else other than him and Suoh,” his voice became terribly quiet, so much that his final words were barely audible. “…and you.”

“How did you survive?” Akihito asked, completely oblivious to the last part of the man’s sentence. “The… explosion, the building…”

“Suoh and I jumped out of one of the windows facing the gardens,” Asami explained. “The trees would lessen the impact of our fall.”

Akihito nodded, lost in his own thoughts.

“Were those… peach trees?” he asked, with a little smirk.

The other man looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a smirk of his own threatening to curl the corners of his mouth.

“Akihito, have you ever seen a peach tree up-close?” he asked. “Do you really think such a flimsy thing would stand Suoh’s weight and mine?”

The photographer narrowed his eyes.

_Flimsy thing?!_

“But for _poetic effect,_ yes, let us assume I landed on a _peach orchard_ and was spared from death,” he heard Asami add, trying very hard not to chuckle. “Still, a beam collapsed on top of the debris I was crawling under, and I found myself pinned to the ground. I was waiting for Suoh to find me in the middle of the rubble but instead,” he paused, and poked the young man on the chest, “… _you_ showed up.”

Akihito let out a triumphant smile.

“Aaah, so it was you! Ha, I knew it was not a statue!” he exclaimed. “Yeah… I saw you sitting there.”

"My legs were broken, Akihito," Asami replied, with an arched eyebrow. "But again, for _poetic effect_ , yes, let’s say that I was just sitting there."

"But… you were talking to me," Akihito looked positively mortified when he raised his eyes to Asami's face. "You were probably in so much pain, why didn’t you just tell me to shut up?"

"You were going into shock, I could tell," he heard the other man say. "I let you talk because I wanted you to stay awake, at least long enough for someone to find us."

The photographer swallowed, feeling all sorts of emotions getting ready to riot inside his chest. He was still angry, but at the same relieved and happy and terribly grateful for Asami caring so much about him that even with two broken legs, the man's main concern had been with _his_ well being.

"Hopefully…" he felt the warmth of Asami's breath on his ear as he gently pulled him closer, "you were still lucid when you invited me for a drink?"

Akihito smirked, fully aware that his body was beginning to betray his uninterested facade.

"Oh, did I?" he asked, feigning indifference. "Nah, I don’t remember that, I think I was delirious, _like Kirishima said_."

"Kirishima is a loyal man, Akihito," he heard Asami reply, the heat coming from his body threatening to burn him alive. "If you want to hate someone, hate me, I was the one telling him what to do..."

Akihito felt slender fingers tilt his chin upwards, so that their lips were dangerously close.

"So, what is it going to be?" the man whispered. "Is that drink still up?"

Akihito swallowed, his entire body throbbing with 365 days worth of pent-up desire as he pressed his lips against his lover's, parting them to receive Asami's probing tongue and feeling every single nerve in his body go up in flames as the man's hands cradled his face.

His blunt nails were trying to carve his name on Asami's arms as the kiss deepened, his breath coming in short pants as he sucked the man's lower lip into his mouth, relishing the warmth and the faint taste of nicotine that slowly spread across his own tongue.

He heard a lewd groan sensually pierce his ear when they finally parted, but kept his eyes closed, trying to get his heartbeat under control.

"Bastard..." he whimpered. "I'm still mad."

"I know," he heard Asami whisper in response, and opened his eyes just to find the man staring at him with those golden orbs full of promise and lust. "I will make it up to you."

Akihito pulled the older man for another urgent kiss, and he couldn't possibly care less for all the moans leaving his throat as they pressed their bodies together.

"Akihito…" he heard Asami growl. "If you keep rubbing yourself against me, I will be forced to desecrate my own tomb…"

The photographer was far too dizzy to fully realise the implications of those words, so he merely bit his lip and smirked in response.

"I thought we were going to have a drink first," Akihito said.

"As if you could wait..."

His eyes shot open when he felt Asami's fingers grazing against his very obvious erection through his pants. 

"Oi, as if _you_ could wait!" he exclaimed, when the man accidentally rubbed an equally hard part of his anatomy against his hip. "Ugh, we are in a cemetery, stop!"

He finally found it in him to push Asami away, and watched as the man smirked in response.

"Did you get them, at least?" Akihito asked, shamelessly rearranging his family jewels inside his boxers so that his hard-on was no longer tenting the front of his pants. "The guys that destroyed Sion?"

"What do you think?" the older man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I think…" the photographer replied, his tone awfully serious, "that if you did a half-assed job and they come back for you, I will personally kill you."

"They will not bother us for at least a few decades," Asami replied, his voice dripping with confidence. "See… after ten months craving _some kind of satisfaction_ ," he smirked, "I might have gotten a little bit too antsy…" he paused, and casually looked at his own hands before continuing, "...and ended up blowing up half of Siberia."

" _What?"_ Akihito exclaimed, his eyes going wide. "Wait, the terrorist attacks in Siberia two months ago... Was it you?"

The man merely averted his dangerously fierce eyes to his face, and remained silent.

"You know, I don’t…" the photographer shook his head. "I don’t wanna know."

"Good," Asami replied, crossing his arms. "Because before you accuse me of anything, I will have you know that you are quite a handful yourself."

"As in?"

"As in, you never do as you’re told, do you?" the man said, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and annoyance. "You are told not to go to the funeral, you attend it anyway," Akihito rolled his eyes at the words. "I leave you money so that you can look after yourself, you reject it. I transfer the penthouse to your name so that it doesn’t get sold…" Asami paused, narrowing his eyes, "and - _what a surprise_ \- it gets sold."

"Oh…" Akihito felt his cheeks were on fire. What a stupid, _stupid_ thing he had done. Now the man was alive, but had no home to go back to. "A-Asami,  about that, I am so sorry…"

"You should be," the man answered, his trademark smirk back on his lips. "If you had at least looked at the bid, this reunion wouldn’t have taken place in a graveyard."

It took a few seconds for Akihito to process the message behind those words.

"Wait a minute..." he muttered, his eyes falling on the piece of paper the man had just retrieved from one of his pockets. "No, you wouldn't-"

The rest of his sentence died on his lips as the man unfolded the paper and held it up for him to read it. Akihito's eyes quickly scanned its contents, until they landed on the one bit of information he was looking for.

**_Bidder’s name: Asami Ryuichi_ **

"Oh, you motherf-"

"Kirishima approached you just in time to stop you from coming all the way to Mount Koya, but would you listen?" Asami interrupted, folding the paper and putting it back in his pocket _. "No."_

Akihito opened his mouth to argue, but the older man was faster.

"You almost drove my first assistant into madness, Akihito," Asami continued, pushing up Akihito's tie knot. "He said, and I quote, 'Sir, please, give me frogs, flies, locusts, anything but Takaba Akihito! Compared to him, the other plagues were a joy!'"

Akihito couldn't help but snicker.

"Heh," he said. "Serves him right..."

"Come," Asami said, stretching his hand after letting out a chuckle of his own. "Let’s go home."

_Home._

Akihito stared at the ground as he walked towards the man and held his hand, hiding his obvious smile and blushing cheeks from the prying golden eyes.

"Hey!" he managed to say a minute later, when his lover wrapped a hand around his waist. "So peach orchards are flimsy things that live for 20 years top, I am beginning to think that your metaphor was not meant to be a compliment!"

"Well, I can’t let that get to your head, can I?" he heard the man reply, smirking. "My little plague…"

As the two of them slowly walked towards the exit of the cemetery, the tiny peach orchard behind Asami’s grave stood its ground, its thin branches swaying graciously against the wind, as if waving them goodbye.

Luckily, the little tree would not be seeing those two again in its lifetime.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Aaannd it is finally over! Hope you guys enjoyed it!! =D Yes, Asami totally pulled a Sherlock and I regret nothing! ( ~~I was even tempted to make Akihito grow a moustache like John just to have Asami make fun of him but that would be going too far!! However I did “Mycroft” Kuroda, hehe.~~ XD)
> 
> 2) Yes, I have shamelessly borrowed the iconic line “compared to you, the other plagues were a joy” from The Mummy. XD
> 
> 3) Yes, Asami had to think he was dying to disclose the letter revealing his true feelings for Akihito, and Akihito had to think Asami was dead to finally confess his feelings as well. *screams into the abyss* Stubborn idioooots! XD
> 
> 4) I apologise to those of you that were expecting a tragic ending! I… just couldn’t do it. Perhaps next time? XD
> 
> 5) Last but not least… Thank you so much for reading! =D


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